


heart attack in black hair dye

by dutchydoescoke



Series: boys next door and scandals [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchydoescoke/pseuds/dutchydoescoke
Summary: Sophomore year, “I Don’t Care” blasting at full volume, and Scott singing at the top of his lungs, and Stiles decides, then and there, that he wants to hear Scott do that for as long as he can.

The very beginning.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An unfinished prequel fic to This Drying Ink, how the band sort of starts. I'm probably not returning to this AU after this, beyond maybe posting some other snippets, but I figure I'd post this and get it out of my WIPs folder.
> 
> Title ganked wholesale from "Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back" by My Chemical Romance.

Stiles first gets the idea for the band when they’re on the way to school one morning and Scott’s belting along to the Fall Out Boy playing from the tiny boombox Stiles has jammed awkwardly under the dash because Roscoe’s radio _sucks_ on a good day.

Sophomore year, “I Don’t Care” blasting at full volume, and Scott singing at the top of his lungs, and Stiles decides, then and there, that he wants to hear Scott do that for as long as he can.

He picks up a crappy guitar from Beacon Hills’ only pawn shop a couple of days later during free period, hiding it in the back and covering it with a winter coat he’s too lazy to put away. The first songs he learns are “I Don’t Care” and “I’ve Got a Dark Alley And Pete Wentz Needs Shorter Song Titles”. (Stiles can never remember the full name of that damn song.)

He practices while Scott’s busy working at the clinic, more than a little afraid that he’ll burn this out before it gets off the ground if he tells Scott. It’s how his kicks usually work. He refuses to let it this time. He wants to be able to show Scott and promise him that he’ll stay with it.

When he starts actively writing music, he figures it’s time to tell Scott.

This is how it starts.

* * *

Stiles is a cliché. He’s aware of this. It’s not like it’s news.

But he refuses to be _the_ cliché of a guy writing songs about his best friend while in a band _with_ his best friend. He is not Pete Wentz, thank you. (Okay, Stiles doubts that Pete’s _actually_ in love with Patrick, but the internet makes a compelling argument.)

The point still stands, though. He’s not going to be that bad. He keeps it vague most of the time, avoiding gendered pronouns like they’re the plague. One or two more explicit references to Scott show up, though, no matter how hard he tries otherwise.

(The phrase ‘ _sunshine smile_ ’ is perhaps the cheesiest, most cliché thing he’s ever written, but it’s also the truest. Scott’s damn smile always spreads across his face as slow as the sun rising and makes him feel just as warm.)

(And Jesus _Christ_ , he’s cheesy.)

He hides all of the songs that are blatantly about Scott in the journal under his bed and tries to write something less obvious.

Instead, he writes a song about the boy next door, and while Scott lives two miles away, it’s the same sentiment.

That one gets balled up and thrown out the window.

* * *

When he finally tells Scott about it, having assembled enough songs and pieces of songs, none of them about Scott, or not obviously so, he asks if he can try drumming instead of guitar.

He doesn’t really think it’s good for his health if he’s that close to Scott on stage, when Scott’s singing about Stiles being kind of pathetic for him. At least drums give him a barrier.

Except for the fact that after they set the cheap, old drum kit up in his room, purchased from Beacon Hills’ only thrift store, he tries to play and nearly takes Scott’s head off with a drum stick. His All Time Low Unplugged poster took the brunt of the damage and he winces at the disproportionately large hole in the wall where the drumstick landed.

(...He doesn’t know how he put that much force behind it. Or, well, so he says to his dad and Scott. It _might_ have had something to do with being distracted by Scott’s hands on a guitar and hitting the snare a little harder than was strictly necessary to try and shake himself out of it.)

(But that’s between him and the journal under his bed.)

(...what the fuck rhymes with “wrist”, anyway?)


End file.
